


Only Chance

by AllOfTimeNSpace



Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M, Jealous Rick, Original Character(s), POV Female Character, POV Original Character, POV Third Person, Protective Daryl Dixon, Survival, The Walking Dead References, Zombies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-12
Updated: 2019-05-10
Packaged: 2019-10-26 22:36:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17754782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllOfTimeNSpace/pseuds/AllOfTimeNSpace
Summary: When the outbreak first started, Emerson Bradly had barely made it out with her life. Living out of the daycare where she had worked, and caring for a newborn baby that had been enrolled in the daycare, Emerson focused on making it day by day. Until he showed up. The Governor. Leader of a town called Woodbury, a town that at first Emerson thought was heavensent, until it wasn't. Allowed to keep the baby, but confined to the Governor's secret room of walker heads, Emerson is a prisoner meant to serve the Governor's needs. That is, until the strange group of people from the prison show up.





	1. One Chance

_Running. She was always running. She was running when it happened, when he found her. She could still hear his voice, those first words echoing in her head as she swayed on her feet, dizzy from exhaustion, dehydration and hunger._

_"We have a town. It's safe there..."_

_His voice was so soft, so sweet. He was a wolf in sheep's clothing, and the light of the sun had been much too bright, she remembered. Her throat had been much too dry. The little water that she had had gone to the baby to make her formula._

_"There are other people..."_

_The animals in the woods_ _were too loud. It sounded like they were warning her. But she didn't listen._

_"There's food. Water. Resources. It looks like you have a baby with you. We have other babies... What's your name?"_

_When she opened her mouth, she could barely force the words out. Her cracked lips parted and her throat rubbed together like sandpaper as she whispered her name, "Emerson."_

_"Hello, Emerson. I'm the Governor," were the last words she heard before the world faded out of existence._

_*******************************_

Emerson sat cross legged in an armchair, clutching a sleeping baby, Josey, to her chest. Aquariums against the opposite wall bubbled, and if Emerson closed her eyes she could almost imagine that it was fish that they were filled with, instead of the horrific reality. Heads of biters, as her captor called them, stared back at her and the baby through ravenous, empty eyes, jaws snapping weakly at the glass. Emerson did her best to try and ignore the sunken in faces, but it was like trying to look away from a tragic car wreck--she couldn't.

Worse than the biter heads was Penny. She didn't know if she felt pity for the Governor, a man so sick in the head that he kept his dead daughter locked in a cage and a woman--Emerson--locked in a room to play the part of his wife, or if she simply felt bewilderment and anger. When the Governor first brought her here, she thought it was a blessing. She thought that Woodbury would be a place where she and Josey could be safe, where they could make a life for themselves, but she quickly discovered that the only life either of them would have would exist within the confines of a single room, their roommates being the heads of dead people, and a dead little girl chained up in a cage. 

At the creak of the doorknob, Emerson stiffened. Regarding the watch on her left wrist, she noticed that it wasn't his usual visiting time, and she stood up quietly and backed herself into the wall close to the door. If he was angry, she was in trouble. She would have to keep the baby out of his sight. Her eyes darted to the little bassinet in the corner of the room, and she quickly crossed the small space and tucked the sleeping baby in, pulling a thin blanket over her body just as the door swung open.

The harsh light of the outside world washed over her, momentarily blinding her and allowing her to see only the silhouette of the person that stood in the doorway. She lifted her hand to shield her eyes from the brightness and squinted at the figure. Right away she could tell that it wasn't him. It wasn't the Governor. 

"Who are you?" She hissed, scurrying across the room and closing the door slightly. Emerson studied the woman carefully as the woman, who held a dangerous looking sword, studied her back. 

"It doesn't matter. Is he keeping you trapped here?" The woman peeked over her shoulder and around the door, seemingly relaxing as she noticed that the main room was empty. That fact, however, did nothing to quell Emerson's nerves. She knew what happened when people got out of line, and what happened to their accomplices. No matter how sick the Governor was in believing that Emerson could be his wife's replacement, she knew that that fact would not exempt her from punishment. 

"If he sees you here, we'll all be punished. You better leave, right now," Emerson said firmly, but then winced as Josey started to fuss. She noticed the woman's interest spike as she practically flew across the room towards the covered bassinet, Emerson following close behind. 

"Don't touch her," she snapped, pushing the woman's hand away as it came close to the blanket. Emerson lifted the blanket off of the baby and pulled the child into her arms, holding her close to her chest and stepping away from the woman, suddenly focused on protecting Josey. 

"Are you trapped here?" The woman repeated, seeming to not take offense at Emerson's attitude. She guessed that the woman had had children before, and she understood what it was like when you felt your children were threatened. Josey might not have been biologically Emerson's, but she had gone through far too much to protect the baby to say that she was anything but her own. 

"We are. He 'saved' us, or so I thought. He's... he's sick," she whispered, putting a pacifier in Josey's  mouth as fussing turned to crying. The baby quickly quieted down at the introduction of her favorite binkie. And then it seemed as if Penny had been alerted to the commotion outside. The dead girl moaned in her cage, pulling on the chains and making Emerson's breath quicken with each metal rattle. It seemed to unsettle the woman as well, and as she crossed the room Emerson did nothing to stop her. 

It was only when the woman opened the latch on the cage and undid the chain around Penny's neck that Emerson called out loudly. 

"Put it back on. Oh my god put it back," she said, clutching Josey to her chest and positioning herself defensively against the woman and Penny. 

"You think it's right for him to have a child locked up in here? You're just as--"

"She's not what you think she is," Emerson snapped. 

The woman scoffed and spoke softly to Penny, and Emerson felt her head spin as the cloth came off from over Penny's head, the woman looking up behind Emerson in horror. 

Without their knowledge, the Governor had appeared in the doorway. 

Emerson looked at his trembling form, backing slowly away although there was nowhere to go in a single room. Her eyes connected with the loaded gun in his hands and she almost began to cry, fearing not only for herself and Josey but for the woman whom she didn't know. 

"Phillip," she whispered, "put the gun down, okay? Everything will be fine. No one is going to hurt Penny." She glanced over her shoulder at the woman, who now held her sword tightly with one hand and held Penny with the other hand. "Will you?"

The woman stared stonily at the Governor, unrelenting in her stance. Emerson hugged Josey tightly to her as the Governor placed down his gun slowly. 

"Please don't hurt my little girl," he said. His eyes were frantic. They darted around the room, skimming over everything and everyone, focusing only on Penny, whose jaws snapped threateningly at towards her father. Emerson fought the bile that threatened to rise up in her throat as without warning, the woman thrust her sword through Penny's head, a sickening squelch filling the room. 

"NO!" 

Emerson dodged out of his way as the Governor lunged at the woman, slamming themselves into the fish tanks of biter heads. "Phillip! Stop it!" She screamed. Although she wanted to help the woman, she didn't want to risk herself or Josey. If she wanted Josey to live, then she knew she would have to stay alive as well.

She yelped as the fishtanks came flying off the wall, biter heads scattering around the room and jaws crunching at everything. Thinking fast, she shoved Josey under her shirt, ignoring the baby's protests as she began to cry. Crying. Screaming. Grunting. Crashing. The Governor growled, almost sounding like a feral dog, as she shoved the woman's head into one of the surviving tanks. Emerson just stood by the door, unsure of what to do. Her eyes landed on the basenette in the corner and thinking fast, she dragged it out of the room into the main room, placed the now screaming Josey inside, and ran back into the room to see the Governor and the woman on the floor, his hands around her throat. She saw all of her options unfold before her. She could either help this woman and maybe she would help herself and Josey escape, or she could help the Governor, and maybe he would reward her with allowing her out of her room and into the main fold of Woodbury. 

But she didn't think that would happen. 

Screaming with months of rage pent up inside of her, remembering every time he touched her, violated her, hurt her, she landed a flying kick to his face. His head whipped backwards and his hands flew to his nose, which had broken with sickening crack. The Governor left the woman gasping on the floor as he stood up, hands bloodied as they flew towards Emerson's neck and started to squeeze. She choked hard as he pushed her to the floor, hands still restricting her breath. Tears sprang to her eyes as blackness started to creep around the edges of her vision, and then a piece of glass was shoved into the Governor's right eye, but it hadn't been done by Emerson. 

He screamed as blood began to pool in his eye and Emerson shot backwards, hands rubbing at her throat as she fought for breath.

"Come on. We gotta go," the woman said, picking her sword up off the ground and jerking Emerson from her spot on the floor. 

Emerson nodded and looked at the diaper bag in the corner of the room, which was always kept packed. Sweeping it up onto her shoulder, she stepped out and was met with a gun to her face. 

"Who the hell are you?" A blonde woman, the one pointing the gun at her face, demanded. 

Emerson was silent, eyeing up the woman as her gaze shifted to the woman standing behind Emerson. The blonde woman's eyes then traveled to the Governor who laid on the floor, bleeding from his nose and eye, clutching Penny in his arms and blubbering. Emerson took the woman's moment of distraction to duck under her arms and grab Josey from the bassinet, wrapping her in the ducky print blanket and holding her tightly. Her cries started to quiet at the contact and Emerson followed silently after the woman with the sword as she led them out of the house and into the outside world.  

                                                                                                    *******************

The woman pushed Emerson forward into clearing outside of Woodbury's walls, and Emerson couldn't believe that she had actually escaped. She knelt down and touched the grass, curling her fingers around clump fulls and putting some into Josey's small hands. The baby cooed as she brought the blades up to her mouth, and Emerson smiled down sweetly at her as she brushed them away from her face. 

"Get what you came for?" She heard a harsh voice say. A gun cocked and she froze at the noise. She glanced down at the smiling baby and kissed her head quickly before placing a pacifier in her mouth and nestling her inside the diaper bag and then pulling that to her chest. 

"Where are the rest of your people?" She heard the woman say. 

Emerson stood to her feet and glanced at the man holding the gun. Behind him stood an Asian man and a girl with short hair. 

"They got Oscar and Daryl is missing," he said. He glanced at Emerson and then raised the gun again, pushing forward and getting up close. Emerson held her breath as she shielded herself around Josey, who was thankfully quiet within the diaper bag. 

"What's in the bag," he demanded, reaching towards it. 

Emerson's hand flew up to block him and the gun was now pressed to her head. She took a deep breath and held the bag closer, hoping she wasn't squishing Josey. She figured if the little girl was bothered she would make it known. 

"Don't. Please don't shoot," she whispered, trying to fight the tears in her eyes. 

"Then show me what's in the bag. Michonne who is this anyway?" He asked, glancing around at the woman but keeping his gun locked on Emerson. 

"I saved her," Michonne said carefully. "We gotta go. We can do introductions later." 

"Are you a threat?" He asked scornfully, spinning around on Emerson and again reaching for the bag. 

Emerson, reacting without thinking, grabbed his hand with the gun, spun around and squeezed his hand, causing the gun to clatter on the floor. She picked it up and held it on the man, standing protectively over the baby in the bag. 

"Alright. Easy now. Don't do anything you'll regret.."

"We either gotta go, or we gotta go in there to get Daryl," Michonne urged, placing a hand on Emerson's shoulder. 

Without taking the gun off of the man, she reached one hand onto the bag and scooped Josey up in her arms. The man's face contorted into an expression of confusion, and then of understanding.

"I promise I will do nothing to hurt any of you, as long as don't hurt her. Please, don't hurt her. I wasn't going to hurt you, I just needed to protect her," she whispered, flipping the gun around so that she was holding the handle of the weapon out towards the man. She prayed that he wouldn't retaliate, but the look of understanding that washed over his face let Emerson know that they had reached a mutual understanding. 

"Hey, they're over here!" 

Emerson cursed and swiped up the diaper bag, holding Josey closer as she looked expectantly at the man, who she guessed was their leader. 

"Alright, you and the baby, there's a car up the road about two miles. It's green. Here are the keys. Go sit in there with the baby and wait for us to get back. We're going in to get our man, and then we'll be back. Take this," he said, handing her a gun. 

Emerson nodded, taking the keys and the gun from his hand.

"Woah, wait. She was with the Governor," the short haired woman protested, stepping up and glaring at Emerson and the child. "How do we know she's not his spy?"

"I was his prisoner," Emerson said, her voice tight as she tried not to show weakness. 

"Yea, and how do we know that you're telling the truth?" 

Closing her eyes tightly and reaching to the corner of her shirt, she pulled the fabric up just a bit to allow the woman to see the angry red scar that formed the letter G. Her lip trembled as she rolled up her sleeves to show the bruises that covered her arms, as she pulled back her hair to show the cuts on her neck and the bruises on her cheeks. 

"I was his prisoner," she repeated. "If you guys want to kill him, I'm in. But I can't bring her back in there." She looked down at Josey, who despite all the commotion had fallen asleep with her binky. "He'll kill her in front of me to torture me, then keep me alive long enough for me to suffer. The only reason she's alive is cause I--" Her breath caught in her throat as she pressed her lips to Josey's forehead, looking into her deep blue eyes and feeling a calm wash over her. 

All the people in the group looked away until the leader looked to Emerson and nodded. She took that as a signal to take off down the road and to the car, which she did without hesitance. 

                                                                                                 **************************

Emerson was blindfolded the entire ride to the group's camp. She didn't like it, although she understood the leader's insistence, especially given her suspicion that the leader had a child himself. The car's occupants were silent, and Emerson sat sandwiched between Michonne, who she knew was not blindfolded, since she already knew where the camp was, and the short haired woman, whose name she learned was Maggie. Glenn, Maggie told her, was the name of the Asian man. Josey slept through the entire car ride to the prison, especially after Emerson gave her a bottle of formula, which the group eyed curiously.

"Where'd you get the formula?" Rick, who'd introduced himself to Emerson before the car ride, asked. 

"I used to work at a day care," she answered, not wanting to give too much of her hide out away. 

"Are there more supplies there?" 

Emerson sighed. She didn't want to give up all her supplies to these people, but she also didn't want to hold out if they had a baby. 

"Do you have a baby at the camp?" Emerson asked, still weighing her options. 

Rick was silent for a moment. Emerson understood his hesitance, as she was the same with with Josey not even an hour and a half ago. "Yes." 

"After we get back to the camp, I'll take you and whoever you want to go with you to the daycare. We can clean it out and split the supplies between us..." 

She cursed her big heart. It would be less for her, but who knows, maybe her kindness would convince these people to let her stay with them. By the looks of them, Emerson could conclude that they were holding out somewhere safe. 

"That's very generous of you," Rick said. 

Emerson just hummed in agreement and shifted Josey in her arms. The baby was getting heavy, and soon she wouldn't even need formula. Emerson worried about what kind of solid food she could give her. It wasn't like she had a Baby Bullet anymore--or the electricity to use one. 

"How far is your camp from here?" Emerson asked. 

"About another mile or two. Should be there in a few minutes," Rick said, earning a protest of anger from Maggie. 

"We don't know who this woman is," she hissed. Emerson could feel her lean forward in the seat. 

"Maggie, relax. She has a baby. Do you really think she's gonna try anything when she has a baby to take care of? You saw what the Governor did to her." 

"Rick, thank you, but I'm right here," Emerson whispered. She turned her head towards Maggie's spot in the car, still not being able to see because she's blind folded. "Maggie, I understand your hesitance, but I promise you I'm not going to hurt any of your group. Rick is right. I need to stick around to protect this little one. I'm all she has left, and she's all I have left. And believe me when I say that I'm not with the Governor." 

Emerson tentatively stuck out her hand in Maggie's direction, holding Josey against her chest with the other arm. When she felt Maggie grab on and shake her hand, she knew that they had come to some kind of wary understanding.

She felt the car slow to a stop as she heard a screeching metal sound. Rick beeped the horn once, and quiet gunshots, sounding like they were silenced by, well, a silencer, shot out into the night. Emerson hoped that they were only putting down biters. The car slowly rolled through what Emerson imagined was a gate, and then of course Josey started to fuss. With the blindfold on, however, Emerson couldn't do much. She just reached into her pocket and pulled out the little girl's pacifier, making the child instantly become complacent. Emerson thought the little thing of rubber a magical invention. She heard Maggie and Glenn reunite with the group, cheers of joy that they had made it back. 

Cool hands landed on her arm, causing her to wince and draw back. 

"Hey, it's okay." It was Rick. Emerson liked his smooth southern drawl. 

She allowed Rick to help her out of the car and onto solid ground, where he took off her blindfold. Bright lights, held by other curious group members, were shined in her face. She squinted as she covered Josey's eyes from the brightness. 

"Dad, who's this?" A boy asked. Emerson looked him over closely, noting that he looked no older than fifteen. There was an older man and a younger girl holding a baby, as well as a short haired woman. 

"I'm Emerson, and this is Josey," she said, flipping Josey around in her arms so that the baby looked outward at everyone. She cooed as she flung her hands out, grasping at the air and smiling brightly. 

"She's so beautiful," the young blonde commented. "Is she yours?" 

Emerson smiled and bounced her on her hip. "Sort of. She's not mine by blood, but she's mine all the same." 

Rick nodded and placed a hand on her shoulder. "Let's get inside."

"Wait, Rick, where's Daryl?" 

It was as if everyone in the group held their breath at that moment, waiting for Rick's response. 

"Like I said, let's get inside." 

                                                                                             ******************************

Once inside the prison, which Emerson commended the group on finding, Rick led her to a cell. 

"I have to ask you some questions before I let you in with the group," he said, leaning against the wall of the cell. 

Emerson nodded as she looked down at Josey, placing her finger in the baby's hand and tickling her cheek. Josey cooed and smiled, always unshaped by the harness of the new world. 

"How many walkers have you killed?"

Emerson thought for a moment, trying to create a tally in her head, but she couldn't. "I don't know. I've lost count. Before I was taken by the Governor, it was only Josey and me, living out of the daycare. I fortified it the best I could, but I still had to go on supply runs for water, food, all that. I had an axe to kill the biters. I guess I got lucky that I never ran into anything more than three at a time." 

Rick nodded, pursing his lips as he asked the next question. "How many people have you killed?" 

"None. I've been lucky so far. Nobody thought to raid a daycare, I suppose." 

"Alright. I'm gonna talk to the rest of the group, see what they think about letting you stay." 

Emerson stood up, her head spinning as she did so. If she could stay, she would never have to worry about Josey's cries again. She'd never have to worry about a herd taking down the day care as she cradled Josey in her arms, praying to a God that somehow the baby would live. 

"Rick, are you serious? You'd let us stay?" 

"We'll see." 

                                                                                         ****************************

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Stay With Me

Emerson sat curled up against the door of the bright red Toyota as she and Rick traveled down the bumpy county road to the daycare. Rick and the group had decided to let her stay, although some of their members were still leery of Emerson's presence in the prison. They were a bit more accepting, however, when Rick told them of Emerson's offer of supplies. So that was how Rick and Emerson ended up in the car together, driving to the place where Emerson had spent the first few months of the outbreak. Her eyes were heavy as she stared out the window and watched the scenery pass by in blurs of green and yellow, and it wasn't until Rick's voice broke the silence of the car that she straightened up and became alert. 

"How much further are we?" He asked, looking from the road and to Emerson. 

She sighed and uncurled herself from the window, then took a map out of the glove compartment. The squiggly lines for a minute made no sense to her and she blinked her eyes hard until they cleared up. She hadn't had proper sleep in a long time. 

"We're over here," she told Rick, pointing to a general spot on the map. "And the daycare is here. Woodbury is here, which isn't far from the daycare. We should park a block or so away from the woods surrounding the building, and then walk the rest of the way." 

Rick nodded and tightened his grip on the wheel as his eyes, widening slightly and taking on a frantic look, traced the side of the road. Emerson, who had closed her eyes, hadn't noticed the strange behavior until the car started to slow. Her eyes opened as she watched Rick put the car into park, and then open the door to leave. 

"Rick?" She asked. 

As if he didn't hear Emerson, he undid his seat-belt without a reply and climbed out of the car, stumbling a bit in the road as he made his way to the side of the road. Emerson watched for a moment as he stood staring at the air in front of him and then as he began reaching out a hand as if to touch someone. 

"Rick," she said a bit louder. Watching as a walker stumbled out of the woods, and Rick did nothing about it, Emerson quickly undid her seat-belt and tumbled out of the car. She brandished her knife as the walker got up close to Rick, and then she stabbed the blade into its skull, splattering blood on her face and clothes and leaving the corpse useless. 

She took the knife out of the walker's head and wiped it on its clothes, then placed a shaking hand on Rick's arm. "Rick, are you okay? Do you see something?" 

His lips began to move as Emerson stepped in front of him and placed her hands on his shoulders. "Rick. It's not safe here," she said firmly, hearing the groans and the shuffle of feet coming from the woods. She glanced over her shoulder as the first head of the walkers peeked from the trees. Her heart began to pound as Rick continued to mumble to himself, hands rubbing at his eyes and gesturing over her shoulder. 

"Why are you here?" He asked, voice broken and tears beginning to form in his eyes. 

Emerson withdrew her hands and tilted her head quizzically. "Rick, you asked me to come with you..." 

The walker broke the tree line without either of their notice and in a minute it was gripping Emerson by the hair. She screamed and jerked away, tumbling to the ground and landing heavily on her left wrist, causing her to cry out even louder. 

"Rick, you have to snap out of it!" She yelled up at him. 

She pulled herself up off her feet as the walker, who had fallen along with Emerson, lunged at Rick. She pulled her knife from her belt and dug it into the nasty thing's head, a sickening squelch making her wince. Then she reeled around on her feet and slapped Rick across the cheek, feeling slightly guilty as his head snapped to the left and a large red mark decorated his cheek. 

"We have to go. And we have to go right now," she demanded, pulling on his arm and dragging him towards the car, walkers nipping at their heels. When Emerson shoved Rick into the door of the truck, Rick seemed to get the idea and he climbed inside, Emerson running around to the passenger side door--taking down a few walkers as she went--and climbing inside once Rick was already in. 

"What the fuck was that?" She demanded, huffing and locking the car doors as walkers banged on the windows. She counted them in her head: one, two, three, four, five, six....Far too many to take on with just their knives, and if they used their guns this close to Woodbury, the outcome would be worse than the walkers. She turned back to Rick, who sat hunched over with his head in his hands, and placed a hand on his knee, thinking that maybe she should take a bit more of a delicate approach. She didn't know what he'd been through, and Emerson knew that she had had her fair share of freak-outs. Rick just seemed to have them at the most inopportune times. 

"Rick," she whispered, "I need to know what that was, okay? I'm not going to judge you, and I"m not angry at you. I just need to know so that we can handle it, so I know what we can do going forward." 

"You... you can't help me," he said without looking up from his hands. 

"You don't know that until we try." 

"You don't get it!" He yelled, throwing Emerson's hand off his knee. She drew back and pressed herself against the door, trying to ignore the walkers on the other side. "I'm seeing her! My dead wife! I'm...." he took a deep breath and pressed his palms to his eyes. "I'm seeing Lori. My dead wife. Lori.." 

Emerson sucked in a breath and looked to the floor of the car. That, she knew, was a tough one, and maybe Rick was right, maybe she didn't know how to help him. Hallucinations were a whole separate ball game, and she had experienced them before; the only thing she could think of, which is how she got over it, was to just let it work its course. Eventually, the feelings of guilt would subside, and hallucinations would fade to nightmares only. 

"I can't even... Well, I can imagine what you're going through, because I have gone through it, but all I can tell you is that it will go away. This won't last forever," she said.

Rick's head lifted from his hands and suddenly a look of hope was in his eyes. "You've seen... you... who have you seen? It went away?" 

Emerson smiled softly and took herself away from the car door, leaning a bit closer to Rick. She hoped that maybe the proximity would make him more at ease. 

"When I was younger, my father was extremely... unkind. One day, I couldn't take it anymore. A couple days before the outbreak I snapped and I killed him. I had my job at the daycare, but had nothing else that I cared about at that point. I was ready to go to prison but then the world ended and I got out of it. I hallucinated him for weeks after that. I was unstable, almost died during a run because I thought a walker was him, and then I realized that I was needed. I realized that there was someone counting on me, that Josey was counting on me. You need to remember that, that we are counting on you. Lori is gone, Rick, but we aren't. We are alive and here, and you can't save her, but you can save us." 

For a second, his face cleared and he nodded, then reached over and squeezed Emerson's hand in his. "You're right," he said lowly. 

And then he put the car into drive and sped through the walkers, going so fast that Emerson got pressed against the passenger seat until Rick finally slowed the car once the walkers were far behind them. Emerson noticed the scenery start to change and she placed a hand on the dashboard. 

"You can stop," she said. "We'll walk from here." 

The car slowed to a stop at Emerson's command and both she and Rick hopped out, knifes drawn and guns at their hips. "Now remember," she whispered, "Woodbury isn't far away. Gun fire will carry and attract not only walkers, but the Governor and his men. Knowing him, he'll be coming Rick. He probably won't be scouting the forest, but he'll be coming to the prison soon. But right now, we don't want to draw any unneeded attention to ourselves. Let's just get in, get the supplies, and get out." 

Emerson observed the ghost of a smile on Rick's lips as he said, "since when did you take charge?" 

Emerson laughed lightly as she responded; "When you took a trip to crazy town, now let's go."

Rick snorted and followed closely behind Emerson, who took the lead since she knew where the daycare was. They walked through the woods for awhile, the entire time not hearing or seeing any walkers or people. The trees were lush and in full bloom, and Emerson savored the rhythm of the forest, taking in the chirping of birds and the rustling of rabbits and squirells and bigger animals. She hoped that her crossbow would still be in its hiding spot. She wanted to hunt on the way back. Food was running low at the prison, and she felt guilty that by being accepted into the group she had given them another mouth to feed. At least Josey still had formula, but Emerson knew that she would eventually have to start eating solid food. 

Through the trees, Emerson caught sight of the yellow paint of the daycare. It was once a bright and sunny yellow, and Emerson frowned at the dullness and peeling of the paint. The sign out in front hung haphazardly from one corner, swaying in the slight breeze, and the name was smudged out. What once had said "Sunnyside Daycare" now said "Sun...de Care," the rest of the letters smudged out from weather and neglect. Emerson held up a hand to Rick, signalling for him to stop, and then pointed a finger at the yellow building. She glanced over her shoulder and nodded, then motioned for him to come forward. They both crept forward quietly, knives now put away and guns drawn. They bored shared the same thought: knives wouldn't work against people with guns who wanted to defend what they thought was their stuff. The thought had crossed her mind, that someone could have already cleaned out the entire place--formula and her crossbow included--but she had to hold out hope. 

When they reached the stoop, she pointed to the third step. She knew from experience that that step was weak, and noticing the intense rotting and warping of the wood, she knew that a wrong step would mean falling through. That would really draw attention if there were people inside. Rick noticed Emerson's signal and nodded, stepping over the third step and right onto the fourth. When they reached the door, Emerson whistled a perfect rendition of a little bird song, causing Rick to look at her curiously. 

She shook her head, mouthing that she'd explain later, and when she heard no stirring inside, she placed her toe on the door and inched it open, wincing at the loud creaking of the door. It hadn't been closed, she noted, which was a good sign. It most likely meant that there was no one inside. Quickly, she drew her gun and came around the side of the door, eyes darting around the room but noticing no people. Everything seemed almost as she had left it all those months ago. Stacey--the receptionist's--former desk was still nestled in the corner, papers stacked neatly on the left side and pencils and pens sorted in a little organizer. Stacey was a bit neurotic. 

"Clear," Emerson whispered, moving forward through the entry room. The daycare was small, only three rooms, excluding the front room, to its property. There was the baby room,where Emerson used to work, and the caterpillar room for the young toddlers ages 1-2, and the butterfly room for ages 3-4. The baby room was isolated from the front room with a door that led to the room, and the door was shut tight. 

Emerson held up her hand once again, signalling for Rick to pause. "That's where we need to go," she whispered. "That's the baby room." 

Rick nodded and took a step in front of Emerson, placed his hand on the door handle and then whipped open the door. 

Shelves were toppled to the floor and blood stained the walls. Cribs were overturned and baby supplies laid strewn about. She cursed under her breath as she nodded to Rick, who closed the door firmly behind him. The windows were still shielded from the outside world, thick, dark blankets nailed over them to prevent outside viewers from looking in. 

"Is this how you left it?" Rick asked, gun still drawn as he looked over his shoulder. 

Emerson shook her head and sighed, toeing through the mess on the floor. There was a little nest of blankets in the corner of the room, and Emerson walked towards it. She knelt down beside it and felt around, noticing that it still felt warm. 

"Whoever is here hasn't been gone long. We need to make this quick," she whispered. "Lock that door and keep watch." 

Rick nodded and took his position as Emerson went to work shifting through the rubble. She yelped as she brushed her hands over shards of broken glass, causing blood to bead out of her skin. 

"Are you alright?" Rick said, throwing a glance over his shoulder. 

"Yea, just some glass." 

She picked up a diaper bag and shoved in bottles, blankets, baby hats and mittens, thinking that Judith might have some use for them next winter. Then she opened the cabinet under the sink, grateful that the baby formula--powdered of course--was still intact and sealed. Three cans got dumped into the bag, along with a package of pacifiers and finally, two little dollies. Thinking that it might be good for both Josey and Judith to have mattresses to sleep on, she picked up two of the changing pads and folded them up, shoving them in the now bulging bag. 

"I've got everything," she whispered, drawing her gun as the doorknob began to turn. 

Rick turned to her with wide eyes as someone on the other side of the door--their voice gruff and hoarse--began to curse as they banged on the wood. Emerson pointed at a tall cabinet and shoved the bag towards Rick, who shook his head and shoved her towards the cabinet. 

"Hide, you idiot. You have two children waiting for you back there," she hissed. She opened the closet and shoved Rick inside just as the door flew open with a crash and a man with a wild head of hair and zany expression barged in the room, his own gun drawn and trained on Emerson. 

"Who the hell are you?" He leered, causing Emerson to move backwards to the wall, gun still drawn on him. 

"I'm no one," she said quietly. "I was just looking for supplies, but I can see that you've already got this place claimed." 

"That's right I do, missy. Now give me one good reason why I shouldn't shoot you right now." 

Emerson opened her mouth, about to spin some clever lie, just as Rick--like the virtuous idiot that he was--burst from the cabinet and fired a shot, missing the man but making his attention turn to Rick. The man fired and missed, but then fired again just as Emerson dove for Rick, pushing him out of the way and in turn getting shot herself. 

She fell to the ground in a heap as Rick raised his gun, shooting the man this time in the head. Emerson blinked hard as the world around her started to shift. She felt a horrible pain in her side and a sticky wetness began to spread over her shirt. 

"Why would you do that?" Rick demanded, finding a blanket on the floor and pressing it to Emerson's wound, which started to bleed profusely. He examined the location and noted that it didn't look as if it was in a spot to graze any vital organs, and when he turned Emerson over it looked as if it hadn't gone straight through. His mind flashed back to when his own son had gotten shot, and when Hershel had saved him, and he hoped that the older man could perform a similar miracle on Emerson. 

"You have two children, Rick. You need to be there for them in this world," she whispered. She felt weak and suddenly she was seeing two of Rick. She knew that she was losing blood, and that she was losing blood fast. "Go back to the prison. Leave me here. I'll only slow you down. They.. they'll have heard the shots." 

"I'm not leaving you behind," he spat, pressing the cloth harder into Emerson's wound and then lifting her up. She groaned in pain as Rick hefted her into his arms and then sidled the diaper bag of supplies over his shoulder. He paused to pick up the dead man's weapon and something else that he thought Emerson would want, seeing as her name was engraved on the hilt, before taking off out the door of the daycare, running through the woods and making his way to the car. All of the stuff he carried, and Emerson herself, slowed him down, but he tried to run as quickly as possible. 

Emerson moaned in pain with each step he took, and her eyes threatened to flutter shut by the time he reached the car. 

"Stay with me, Em," he mumbled. "Josey needs you... I--... She needs you." 

Emerson weakly laughed as Rick laid her on the passenger seat and started the car.

"She needs to survive, Rick. She only needs to live. I'm not her mother. If anything, I needed her..."

Rick ignored her words and cast worried glances her way as He sped at 80 miles an hour down the road, holding pressure on the blanket over Emerson's wound as he drove. Blood seeped out quicker than Rick knew was good for survival, and he began to push the speed of the vehicle to 90, flying down the road with the knowledge that seconds could be the difference between life and death. Then he realized something that could potentially really be the difference between her living and dying. 

"What is your blood type?" He asked frantically, not taking his eyes off the road. 

Emerson groaned in response, her eyes starting to close. He cursed and brought a hand down on the wheel, causing the horn to blare loudly. 

"Emerson what is your blood type!?" 

"A positive," she whispered, just as she passed out. 

 

       

 

 

 

 

 


	3. Lesson Learned

Emerson woke up to the cacophonous racket of gunfire. She squeezed her eyes shut and put a pillow over her head to try and block out the noise, thinking that it was just a bad dream or that maybe she was catching Rick's crazy and she was hallucinating it all.... but then she heard the babies crying.

She threw the pillow off her head and brushed off the blankets and then stumbled to her feet, or at least tried to, as she ended up being yanked back by something pulling on her wrist. She yelped in pain at the sharp sting in her side and back-peddled, sitting on the bed and looking at her hand to see that it was cuffed to the bed with a pair of metal handcuffs. At least whoever had cuffed her had the decency to line the cuffs in fabric so that they didn't dig into her skin.

"Rick!" She shouted, wincing when her voice echoed off the walls and her side pulled with the words.

She heard shuffling footsteps through the gunfire and a slight silhouette appeared at her cell door.

"Beth?" She asked, noting the two babies in her arms.

"Emerson? Are you alright? Sorry about the handcuffs, we just had to make sure.... you know..." Emerson knew where she was going with that statement. They had to make sure she wouldn't turn and go on a feeding frenzy. She looked down at her side and noted the blood seeping through the bandage that was there. For a moment, panic struck her heart. She thought she had been bit. But then she remembered the daycare and the lunatic with the gun, and how she'd jumped in front of Rick and taken a bullet for him. She blew out a long breath of air and leaned back against the concrete wall behind her bed, then glanced over at Beth. 

"What's going on out there?" She asked her.

"It's the Governor. He drove a truck through the fence from what I can see, and they're shooting at us. I had to stay here with the babies and you. Rick said if anything happened, he wanted me to take Judith and Josey and run."

Emerson gazed longingly at the baby girl, who upon hearing Emerson's voice began to whine for her. "Nem, nem, nem," she babbled, causing Emerson's heart to warm. Beth reached for a set of keys, which Rick had given to her in case Emerson woke up, and unlocked the cell door. It was hard to do with two babies in her arms, but she managed. Josey reached out for Emerson as soon as she caught sight of her, and Beth handed her over as soon as the handcuffs were undone.

"Hi, baby girl," she whispered, cradling Josey in her arms. Josey cooed and grabbed for Emerson's hair, legs kicking in glee, and Emerson yelped as the little girl landed a harsh kick to her injury.

"Are you alright?" Beth asked, rushing forward and looking to take Josey.

Emerson held the baby tightly to her, nodding her head. "Yea, she just kicked me pretty hard. I'm fine."

"My daddy had to take the bullet out and give you stitches. Rick gave you quite a bit of blood, and probably shouldn't give anymore, so try not to tear your stitches."

"Rick gave me blood?" Emerson asked, eyebrows raised.

"Mmhm. He feels really bad that you got hurt for him."

The gunfire from outside began to slow and Judith began to quiet down, leaving an uneasy silence to settle over the cell block.

"I hope they're all okay out there," Beth mumbled, cradling Judith in her arms as the baby began to slip into sleep.

"They'll be okay. I haven't been with you guys for very long at all, but I can tell you've got survivors," Emerson said quietly, looking down at Josey and stroking her cheek. Like Judith, Josey had also begun to fall asleep. "Poor things tired themselves out from all that crying."

Beth hummed in agreement and offered to take Josey and put her in her makeshift crib, and Emerson agreed. The weight of the little girl in her arms had started to tear at her wound, and Beth had been wise in her suggestion to be careful with the stitches. When Beth left the room, Emerson leaned her head back on the wall and closed her eyes; she had been in more pain than she had let on to Beth, and was close to falling asleep again when the commotion started in the main room of the prison. 

"Now Axel is dead," she heard Hershel say. "We can't stay here."

Immediately her ears perked up and her heart came crashing down to her feet. She had just found a safe place for herself and Josey, and now they wanted to leave? She stood up off the bed, almost collapsing to her knees, and hobbled to the door of her cell. She stood there for a moment, watching the group bicker as she hung onto the bars of the cell door for dear life.

"We can't stay here," Hershel said.

Emerson watched on quietly as Rick shook his head, followed by Glenn yelling that they need to fight. A stiff silence fell over the room as the group stared tensely at each other.

"We can't leave," Emerson said quietly, causing all heads to turn in her direction. "He may have the numbers, true, but how many of them have even been outside the walls? Do they know how to fight? He can put guns in their hands, but without experience it might as well be a hunk of useless metal."

"You shouldn't be up out of bed," Hershel chastised, using his crutches to hobble over to Emerson. "You're gonna tear your stitches."

"And who are you?" A voice from her left asked. It was rugged and hoarse--it was a man's voice. She turned towards him, still hanging onto the cell door, and cracked a smile.

"My name's Emerson," she said. She let go of the door in effort to shake his hand, which she realized was a mistake as she fell forward. The man caught her and placed her back up on her feet.

"You can't even stand up on your own two feet," the man said with a scoff, "and you want to stay and fight?"

"We have two babies here," she said, looking not only at the man but at everyone else in the group. "We can't survive on the road. I've tried to live out there with a baby. I had shelter, but it wasn't as good as this, and trust me when I say that every single cry brings walkers down on you like you're ringing the goddamn dinner bell."

"Well why do we have two babies? Who the hell is this, Rick?" He demanded.

Emerson scoffed and lowered herself to the floor.

"She took a bullet for me without hesitation. She's part of the group now, Daryl," he said. Emerson almost rolled her eyes at that man's name: Daryl. She had to bite her tongue to keep herself from making some snarky remark about red necks, reminding herself that she once was no different than Daryl. She watched Rick closely as he, without another word, reeled around and started to walk in the opposite direction of the group, only to be stopped by Hershel's booming voice which pierced the tenseness of the room.

"Get back here!" He shouted, banging his crutch on the floor. Everything stilled as Rick stopped, then slowly turned his ear towards Hershel. "You once said this isn't a democracy. Now you need to own up to that and do something."

Emerson watched Rick closely as he placed a hand to his cheek, like Hershel had physically hurt him. He stood there for a moment before nodding at the older man and then walking away, Carl running out behind him. Gradually afterwards, the group dispersed to their separate cells. Hershel, however, called for Maggie and then pointed at Emerson.

"I need to check your wound," he said. "Maggie, help her get to her bed, please."

"Sure, daddy," she mumbled. Emerson tried to deny Maggie's help at first, until she realized that she was incapable of standing on her own and then relented, allowing the taller woman to lift her off the floor--which she didn't do so gently--and walk her to her bed.

"You're stronger than you look," Emerson commented, allowing a breathy laugh to pass her lips.

Maggie ignored her and simply plopped her onto the bed and then walked from the room, brushing past her dad as he came hobbling in.

"Don't mind my Maggie," he said as he eased himself down onto a stool next to Emerson's bed. "She's a bit leery of you still, given your prior unfortunate situation with this Governor character. But, she'll come around."

Emerson nodded, looking aimlessly around the room until Hershel reached for her shirt and said that he needed to check the stitches. She drew back quickly, hands flying over the hem of the fabric and tugging it back down. Emerson's chest began to heave with heavy breaths and suddenly she was back there, and it was _his_ hands that were on her instead of the well-intended ones of Hershel. Her eyes were wild as she scooted back on the bed, ignoring the pain in her side.

"No," she said firmly, suddenly looking pale.

"I understand your hesitance, but I have to check--"

"No," she whispered, pulling her arms around herself and pressing herself to the wall. "I.. you can't... Please don't," she whispered, shaking her head and covering her face with her knees. She hugged her knees tightly and ignored Hershel's words, the only voice she could hear being _his._

 _Stop fighting. If you fight it'll only make it worse,_ he whispered, voice like venom, in her ear. 

"Don't touch me, don't touch me, don't touch me," she said repeatedly and quietly, hands digging into her arms.

"Rick!" 

"Don't touch me. Get away, get away, please get away," she cried, tears now pouring down her face.

"She's---"

"Rick!"

"Emerson?" 

She opened her eyes finally when she felt a warm hand on her arm. "Rick," she mumbled. "Rick, don't let him get me, please don't let him get me." 

"Nobody is gonna get you. It's just me in here, and Hershel. Me and Hershel and you. Hershel just needs to check your wound. Can he do that?" Emerson, suddenly feeling very vulnerable under the gaze of Rick's baby blue eyes, regarded Hershel carefully. He looked a her with nothing but patience and kindness in his eyes, and her cheeks flushed with redness as she realized how ridiculous, or at least how she thought was ridiculous, that she had acted. Almost as if reading her mind, Rick sent her a kind smile and laid a friendly hand on her knee, much like she had done for him in the Toyota while they were on the road. 

"Hey," he said quietly, "I'm not judging you." 

Emerson smiled and looked down at her lap. She could tell that she had made a good friend of Rick Grimes, and as the former sheriff left the room her heart felt a bit lighter at the realization. 

"I'm sorry that I scared you," Hershel said, snapping her out of her thoughts. "From what I understand, you suffered quite a bit at the hands of the Governor. I ask this for a health standpoint; was any of it sexual?" 

Emerson blushed deeply as she nodded, a feeling of embarrassment washing over her. 

"Did he use protection?" Hershel asked quietly as he lifted the hem of her shirt just enough to see the bandages which were patched with blood. Emerson winced as he peeled away the bandages.

"Yes, he did," she mumbled. It was one of the things she had been grateful for during her imprisonment. It was bad enough that he raped her, but if he hadn't used protection and had gotten her pregnant, and during a zombie apocalypse no less... she didn't know how she would have gotten on. It was challenging enough caring for one baby; she didn't want to imagine how difficult caring for two by herself would have been. 

"That's fortunate. The wound looks good," he said. "But like I said, you need to take it easy. You were barely steady on your feet before, which only further proves my point. Rick had to give you a lot of blood..." 

Hershel looked studied her intensely, causing her eyes to drift down to her lap. "Now, not that we're all not grateful, seeing as the bullet would've killed him given where you took the impact and from what he describes, but why did you do it? You don't know us all that well." 

"He has people to protect; he has people that love him. Sure I have Josey, but she's so young that she wouldn't remember me if I died. Rick has people. He's part of a group. I'm not," she mumbled. 

"That's where you're wrong," he said as he stood to his feet. "You do have a group. You've got us." 

Emerson smiled softly and nodded, noting that she'd been doing quite a bit of that lately. "Thank you, Hershel. And thanks for stitching me up." 

"Get some rest. Doctor's orders." 

                                                                                  **********************************************************

Emerson paced up and down the length of her cell, ignoring the dull throb that resonated in her side with every footfall. 

"You're gonna tear a stitch," Hershel kept reminding her. 

"I feel fine," she would reply, to which he would respond that it had only been a handful of days. Emerson had been reduced to menial house work; washing clothes, doing dishes, feeding the babies--and even that was limited, seeing as both of them had begun to weigh quite a bit. She was slowly beginning to go stir crazy, when suddenly Rick appeared like a guardian angel, and he was bearing gifts. 

"Knock knock," a southern drawl said from her cell's doorway. She had been polishing knives and cleaning firearms while sitting on a pillow in the middle of her cell. 

"Come in, Mr. Grimes," she joked. 

"I got somethin' for you. I picked it up from the daycare. It had your name on it, so I figured it belonged to you and that you might want it back." 

Emerson looked up from the weapon in her hand and as her eyes landed on the familiar crosshatch sight and the engraved stock of her crossbow, she sprang from her spot on the floor and launched herself into Rick's chest, wrapping her arms around him and smiling like an idiot. She had thought that someone had stolen it, and certainly hadn't expected to ever see it again, let alone have it in her possession. 

"I can't believe you brought it with us," she said in awe, taking the weapon into her own hands. She looked through the sight and smiled widely, wanting to take it out into the woods right that very second. 

"You can't go out with it yet," Rick said. "You have to rest." 

Emerson scoffed and slung the bow over her shoulder. "All I've been doing is resting, sheriff. Aside from cleaning our laundry that is. Let me do something that I'm good at. I'll find a nice deer and we can cook up some venison." 

"We already have a hunter," a gruff voice said from the door. "It's me." 

As if he had gotten a brilliant idea, Rick perked up at the man's appearance. "You're right," he said, and Emerson wasn't sure if she liked the tone that he put on. "Fine. You can go, as long as Daryl goes with you." 

Emerson's eyebrows shot up as she finished lacing her boots and stood straight. "I don't need a damn babysitter, Rick," she said, just as Daryl said in a huff, "I ain't no babysitter." 

"Perfect. Then it's settled," he said, a grin on his face as he walked away. 

"Rick!" 

                                                                                                             ****************************

Emerson squatted down low, ignoring the pain in her side, to get a look at the deer tracks that covered the forest floor. The mark that the animal had been there was faint, but it was still there. She wondered how good Daryl actually was, and if he'd notice them too. She stood up and brushed herself off, taking her crossbow off of her shoulder and feeling its weight in her hands. Unknowingly, her gaze shifted to the man that Rick had sent to escort her into the woods--Daryl. Emerson couldn't put her finger on what exactly it was, but something about his presence irked her. He was too quiet. Too reserved. Yet, he was so imposing. She felt his presence intently, and was acutely aware of every expression that flickered across his face, every twitch of his brow and shift of stance. 

"Are you just gonna sit here staring at me all day or are we gonna follow them deer tracks you noticed?" 

Emerson blanched and turned around, busying herself with studying the ground and their surroundings. After a tense minute, during which the only thing you could hear were their footsteps and Emerson's labored breathing, she responded, "I wasn't staring." 

"Like hell you weren't," he scoffed. "Listen, I know I gotta be your babysitter or whatever, because Rick's taken a likin' to you, but that doesn't mean I gotta like it. So let's just bag a kill and get on back to the prison, alright?" 

Emerson ignored his bitter comments and rolled her eyes. "I thought you were the hunter. Shouldn't you enjoy being out here?" 

"Yea," he said gruffly, "I do when I'm by myself." 

"Then go," she said firmly, turning around on her heel. Suddenly a fire had lit itself inside her belly. She was told her entire life that she wasn't wanted, and she wasn't about to be told by some arrogant red necked prick that he didn't want her around either. "There's nothing keeping you here, so just go. We'll meet back at the gates of the prison by sundown. Rick doesn't have to know." 

Daryl prodded her with his crossbow and rolled his eyes. "I ain't leaving you out here to fend for yourself. You're injured." 

"What, and you think I can't fend for myself? What do you think I was doing before the Governor found me? It's what I've done my entire...my entire life," she finished, looking at the ground. Suddenly, the fire in her belly had gone out and she was left feeling like God had taken a piss right on her. "Let's just go back. There's nothing out here. The doe has probably been torn apart by now, anyhow." 

"I don't think so," Daryl said, nodding towards a clearing up ahead. 

Emerson perked up as her eyes caught sight of the creature. It stood grazing on green grass, completely unguarded as if the world hadn't ended. She raised her crossbow and aligned the deer's throat with the crosshatch, hoping as she pulled the trigger that she wouldn't pop a stitch. Her arrow flew through the air, red tail flying, and perfectly met its target. 

Daryl let out a low whistle as the deer pranced off. Neither of them bothered to chase after it. Once the deer was shot in a kill zone, it would eventually die. Emerson did feel slightly guilty for letting it suffer, but she wasn't about to go running and risk injury to herself. 

                                                                                            **************************************

"Where'd you learn to shoot like that?" Daryl asked as they dragged the doe up to the gates of the prison. 

"Kill to survive. Kill to eat. When dad won't buy groceries, but he'll hand you a bow, you learn to provide for yourself." 

"Sounds like my dad," Daryl mumbled. 

"Small world, I suppose. How'd you get out?" 

"The world ended. How'd you get out?" 

Emerson thought for a moment, studying the man who reminded her so much of who she used to be. "I killed him, and then the world ended," she responded.

Then the gates to the prison opened and Daryl just shook his head and marched forward after the mysterious woman who had somehow already begun to work her way into the group member's hearts. Daryl, although he may not have seemed like it, knew a lot about people. He spent less time talking and more time listening than the average person did, so he had gotten really good at figuring people out, and what he had figured out, he confirmed as he watched Emerson work her way through the prison, different members of the group interacting with her as she went. Carol complimenting her on the kill, and saying what a good dinner it would make. Rick rubbing her shoulder in a friendly, and dare he say a little bit more than friendly, kind of gesture. Emerson ruffling Carl's hair as he passed him by and then finally kissing Judith on the cheek and taking Josey into her arms while playfully rolling her eyes at Hershel as he scolded her for going out against his orders. 

Daryl placed the deer on the table and sighed to himself. The rest of the group had definitely started to warm up to the girl, and he knew that without even realizing it, she and that little baby of hers were teaching them all a very valuable lesson, a lesson that they had forgotten: it's okay to let people in. 

 

 

 

  



	4. Nothing Like Her

"Just let me come with you. Please? I need to get out," Emerson pleaded. She was already dressed and ready to go after she heard about Rick taking Michonne and Carl for a run to get more guns. "I feel much better."  

"Listen, I know you want to come but I could use you around here," Rick said lowly.

"To do what? Laundry? No offense to anyone who does it, because it's an important job if we all want to be clean, but that's not me, Rick. I was kept prisoner in a single room, with the exception of going to the bathroom, for months; do you really think I want to be kept prisoner here?" 

"You're not a prisoner," Rick said with a sigh, "you're just injured." 

"Just let the damn girl go," Daryl said from the catwalk above the pair. Emerson looked up, eyes dancing over the arrows that he held loosely in his grasp. She nodded in his direction and looked back at Rick. 

"See?" 

"No. You're injured and you need to rest," Rick said. He began to walk away and Emerson huffed, slamming her foot down as she stormed forward and grabbed Rick by the arm. She lowered her voice to a harsh whisper as she spoke. 

"I didn't take this bullet for you to ignite your radical guilt and God complex. I get that you want to protect me, I get that I'm part of the group now and that means that you feel responsible for me, but don't. I can take care of myself, and I promise you that I can handle this, okay? Besides, if we're going to fight the Governor and his men, I'll need some field practice. So are we good?" 

Emerson's eyes looked intensely into Rick's, and her hand still held onto his arm. His eyes danced to her grasp, but he didn't shake her off until finally he said, "We're good. We're leaving in five minutes; I'll meet you by the gates." 

Emerson nodded and tried to hide the smile of satisfaction that threatened to make its way to the surface. She'd always been a very persuasive person, so she wasn't surprised that Rick had agreed. Daryl's input had also helped her case, and she had to wonder what made the crossbow wielding hunter take to her cause. The thought rumbled around in her head as she walked to her cell and took out her crossbow and arrow sheath, counting the small amounts of arrows that were left. She hadn't had many to begin with, and since she was by herself in the woods when she hunted she often didn't have time to retrieve them from walkers if she was attacked. As she slung the sheath of arrows over her shoulder, she felt a familiar presence behind her. 

"Thanks for putting a word in for me with Rick. He seems to value your opinion," she said, turning around and putting her hair into a ponytail. Her stitches burned as she lifted her arms, but other than that she hadn't been feeling much pain. 

"Well if you wanna go who is he to stop you? He may be the leader but he ain't your dad," Daryl said lowly. Emerson noted that he never really raised his voice. The strong but silent type is how she would have characterized Daryl if someone asked, and she appreciated that type of nature. "Take these with you," he said, thrusting a handful of green tipped arrows towards her hand. 

She looked at his expression and tilted her head, confused. "Why are you giving these to me?" 

"Do you want 'em or not?" He asked, shaking them in her direction. 

She nodded slowly and carefully took them from his outstretched hand, then delicately sheathed them. After a moment's pause, she shuffled awkwardly towards the door of her cell, which he was blocking. 

"I... um.. I better go. Rick said, well, you heard," she mumbled as she slipped past him. 

"You're welcome," Daryl called out at her as she retreated through the cell block. 

She blushed heavily as she stepped into the golden sunlight of the outside. Of course she had forgotten to say thank you. She could almost kick herself. And to top it all off, Rick was standing beside the car, tapping his foot on the ground and looking expectantly at her as if she were making them late for something. She almost rolled her eyes at his absurdity as she climbed into the passenger side of a green vehicle. She settled her bow in her lap as she glanced over to the back seat, seeing Carl and Michonne, the woman who she knew rescued her from Woodbury, pressed up against opposite sides of the car. 

"Hey, dude," Emerson said as Carl looked up, a smile on his face. 

"Hey," he said, voice cracking and face blushing in response.

She simply nodded at Michonne, knowing the samurai wasn't one for words, and laughed as she turned around to the front seat. Carl's awkward exchange had reminded her of a typical teenager, and the nature of his age didn't seem to be affected by the Apocalypse. For that, she was grateful. 

                                                                           ****************************************************

Emerson, Michonne, Rick and Carl walked silently up to a booby-trapped street. All of them had hands hovering over their weapons. 

"There are some liquor stores here. People wouldn't have known about it, but I do. I signed the permits for all the weapons," Rick said lowly, drawing his gun from his side. 

Emerson watched as a walker stumbled into the street and as Michonne lifted her sword to end it. 

"Don't bother," Emerson told her. "She'll get stuck." She regarded the set up with mild awe and horror. Whoever had thought of it had set it up rather erratically. Sharp wooden spikes stuck out from random places, soley for the purpose of trapping walkers. The writing on the walls were mainly what caused her to be hesitant of the place. Big, angry letters spelled out phrases like "turn back, idiot," and "I'm warning you." Overall, it sent an uneasy feeling down her neck. Other than that, however, the street seemed relatively calm and all was fine until a single shot, which hadn't come from any of the four on the ground, was fired into the walker.  

"Drop your weapons!" A loud voice ordered. Emerson craned her neck backwards as she hestiantly raised her hands, holding her gun loosely in her left. Her eyes traced over the top of the buildings until she saw the source of the bullet: a masked man with a firearm, counting down from ten. Emerson knew that when the number hit one, he'd probably shoot all of them.

"Nine."

"I could probably get up there," Michonne whispered. 

"Eight."

Emerson shook her head. "Too dangerous." 

"Seven."

"It could work," Rick said. 

"Six."

"We're running low on time. I'm going." 

"Five."

"Michone!" Emerson said,, and then sighed when the samurai ran. 

"Four." 

"Cover me," she hissed over her shoulder at the pair. 

"Three.."

Emerson shot at the masked man before pulling Rick down to cover next to a car, and immediatly bullets rained down on them. 

"Where's Carl?" She asked, ducking out to shoot at the man. Her heart raced at the possibility of Carl being hurt by that lunatic. 

"I told him to run for the car while you and Michonne were arguing." 

A bullet pinged the metal that shielded them and Emerson jumped back, nearly being grazed by the bullet, and fell into Rick's lap. She blushed heavily and tried to ignore what had just happened as she sprang up and shot at the man, then dove for cover under a picnic table that had been turned on its side. Her heart pounded and her stitches had definitely started to tear, but she ignored it, thinking that there was nothing she could do about it at that point. She knew she'd have to hide it from Rick though; if he saw any injury, it would be a one way trip to way more house arrest--or, prison arrest...

"Rick! You take right, I take left," she ordered, taking a deep breath and powering through the pain. 

Rick nodded in response and the pair split, and then suddenly the gunfire ceased. Emerson crouched down low, eyes scanning the perimeter. It seemed that the man had disappeared, and as she looked up she spotted Michonne alone on the roof. She heard a slight shuffle behind her and whipped around, wincing as a loud gunshot filled the area, but then the man fell, revealing Carl behind him with his gun raised. She had definitely thought that she was getting shot again. 

Once she realized that it was Carl who had shot the man, she came to her senses. "Carl! Your father told you to wait in the car," Emerson scolded as she walked towards him. But then, surprising everyone, she bent down and took the boy into his arms and ruffled his hair. "But thank you for that, and i'm glad that you're alright." She released him and stood up, taking place next to Rick who stood beside the still masked--but now unconscious--man.

"She's right," Rick said, "I told you to wait in the car." 

"Yea, well it's a good thing I didn't," he muttered. "I had to shoot him. Is he dead?" 

Rick knelt down and lifted up his shirt to reveal a bulletproof vest underneath. "Not dead, just stunned. C'mon, let's get him up to his apartment." 

"Wait," Emerson said, kneeling down next to Rick. "Take off his mask."

Rick rippped off the mask and let out a gasp of surprise. "I know him. His name is Morgan." 

                                                                                  ******************************

"So how do you know him?" Emerson asked Rick. They were alone in the room with Morgan, who was unconcsious on the cot, and as she waited for Rick's response her eyes grazed over the multiple writings on the walls. They reminded her of the warnings on the street, and Emerson thought that the writing resembled the ramblings of a madman. "Was he this crazy when you initially met him?" 

Rick shook his head, picking up a rifle and looking through the scope. "He saved me when this all started. I was in the hospital in a coma; gunshot wound. I stumbled out into the world, confused, dazed. Almost got attacked by a walker, and then Morgan and his son show up, kill the walker and knock me unconscious. He and his son fed me and told me about what was going on." 

"So where's his son now?" 

Emerson watched as Rick's shoulders slumped as he looked at the wall. He picked up a hand and traced his fingers over large read writing that read "DUANE TURNED," in large, angry letters. 

"Oh," she whispered, looking down at her feet. She sat down on a crate and began fiddling with some of the weapons and loading a bag with ammo. "Are we going to leave once Carl and Michonne get back?" 

"Well, we're gonna wait here until he wakes up," Rick said. "I'm gonna give him an offer to join us at the prison." 

"At the prison?" Emerson deadpanned. "You're gonna let him--this crazy man--come back to where your daughter and son sleep? You all secured that place so you could be safe. We already are housing Merle Dixon, who by the way is prior-accomplice with the Governor, the man who raped me and beat me countless times." 

"That's differnent. And so is Morgan. He wasn't always like this. This could just as easily be me, could just as easily be you! You can't tell me that losing Josey wouldn't make you go at least a little crazy. I know for a fact that if I lost Carl or Judith...."

Emerson sighed and placed her face in her hands. Sometimes, she thought Rick's big heart a bit too big. He took unnecessary risks to help out other people, and Emerson was worried that his sanity was waning. Not that she was any better, seeing as she had just had a panic attack when Hershel tried to check her stitches. 

"I think you're wrong on this one, Rick," she whispered under her breath, which caught in her throat when unexpectedly, Rick burst out with, "You're not like her, you know." 

Emerson stopped fiddling with the weapon in her hand and looked up. "I'm not like who?" 

"Her. My... My wi--Lori. You're not like Lori. She'd never--" 

His words were cut short as Morgan, who neither of them realized had woken up, charged at Rick with a rather large knife. Without thinking, Emerson rushed forward and slammed into Morgan, pushing him off of Rick and knocking him to the floor. She straddled him and punched him in the face, knocking his head to the side, but Morgan, being much stronger than Emerson, quickly gained the upper hand. Before Rick even had a chance to pull him off of her, he picked up Emerson's head and slammed it to the floor twice. A ringing erupted in her ears and her vision became double as Rick threw Morgan off of her and they rolled across the floor, both men struggling to gain dominance over the other. 

"You know me!" She heard, but the voices echoed as if she were standing in a tunnel. 

"Rick," she said weakly, her stomach rolling and her vision blurry. She placed a hand on her head as she stood and stumbled across the room, falling into a pile of weapons and again smacking her head on something--the edge of a large wooden crate. Her stomach rolled as she laid there, stunned and staring up at the ceiling, listening to Rick fight for his life against a victim of insanity caused by this horrible new world. Through her messy thoughts, she reflected on Morgan's words. 

"They'll all be dead soon!" He shouted, and Emerson realized that he just may be right. "It's the weak that survive, Rick!" 

The weak that survive. Emerson's head lolled back as those words rolled around in her head. 

_I'm weak,_ she thought to herself, blocking out the noise of Rick and Morgan.  _I let the Governor have his way with me. I fought, but I didn't win. I'm weak. I killed my own father to save myself. I'm weak. Only the weak survive... I survived and he didn't. I survived because he died. I am weak._

"Emerson?" 

Upon hearing his voice, she slightly turned her head towards Rick. She knew it was him because of that sweet, sultry accent that she liked, but even he couldn't save her from her own mind at that point.

"I'm weak. The weak survive," she whispered. Her head felt light and her eyes felt heavy. 

"Em, you have to stay awake," Rick said, and then suddenly his hands, warm and smooth, fell onto her cheeks. She blinked lazily as his face hovered over hers, concerned written in the drawn nature of his eyebrows and contortion of his mouth.

"Let me sleep. Just... just let me sleep," she whimpered. 

"No. You probably have a concussion. You need to stay... Em--wake.... alone..." 

Emerson's eyes closed as Rick's voice faded into nothingness, and suddenly she was drawn back to her old life, her old house--to a time which she had tried so hard to forget.

_Her footsteps echoed off the hallway walls which were flaking off pieces of peeling white paint. Beer bottles clinked and tinkled with the sounds of rolling glass as she nudged them with her feet, not even trying to avoid kicking around all the garbage on the floor as there was far too much to be successful in such an endeavor. Mold spots decorated the warped and faded wood of the floor, and she could taste the damp that covered the ceiling which, in the hallway, held a single light bulb dangling and swinging, illuminating the ghostly haunts of her old life._

_She stopped at the end of the hallway and raised a hand to knock on the door which stood alone. She didn't know why she was knocking--that door led to her own room, after all. But still her fist rapped once, twice, three times on the splintered wood before it creaked open, shining a red, ghastly light onto her feet. Stepping into the blood red haze, she was horrified when, at the corner of the room, a head of frazzled brown hair slowly lifted up to gaze at the intruder. The face that looked back at Emerson was one of a maniac; A bloody hand print smeared down her cheeks and her eyes held the glazed over craze of insanity. Emerson took a step back, horrified at the sight of herself standing maniacally over what she knew would be him--her father._

_She took another step back and tripped over the stained carpet, landed hard on her bottom, and then suddenly the ghoulish nightmare of what had happened was staring into her soul through blank, emotionless eyes. Cracked lips parted softly until they opened wide and released a scream that seemed to go on forever and ever and ever, until finally Emerson was thrown from her old house and plunged into an ocean of icy water which seemed to squeeze her from every side._

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: So we have a bit more of Emerson's inner thoughts and backstory here, as well as an interesting development into her relationship with Rick... Also, what the heck did Rick mean by comparing her to Lori?? Find out soon ;)**

 

 

 

 

 


	5. One of Us

Emerson rose from her unconscious state--although not into a fully conscious state-- screaming. Painted into the back of her eyelids was the maniacal face of insanity that she had seen in the red room. In her half-conscious state, she could still smell the mold of the carpet and feel the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end as her nose caught scent of all the blood. The blood had been so much and so horrific. Invisible hands gripped her arms as she thrashed in bed in effort to get away from the unspeakable horrors created by her own mind, and Carol, who had been keeping an eye on Emerson to monitor her condition, held onto Emerson's arms tightly as she fought against invisible horrors.

At the sound of her screaming, all of the prison members rushed to the cell door and looked on with wariness. 

"Where's Rick?" Someone asked, knowing that Rick had a knack of calming Emerson down. 

"He's not back yet," Carol said over her shoulder. "He and Daryl and Hershel went to meet with the Governor."

A murmur went through the crowd as they all looked on for a few minutes longer, but they eventually began to disperse as Emerson began to settle down from the nightmare and recede back into the deep slumber she'd been trapped under for two days now. However, despite her seemingly calm state, Carol still stayed and kept watch over her, knowing first hand the effects of PTSD and how they haunted you in not only your waking hours, but in your sleeping hours as well. Even after his death which had been months prior, Carol often dreamed of the abuse both she and her daughter had suffered at the hands of Ed. She knew that the abuse never fully ceased its hold on your subconscious, and she also knew of the abuse suffered not only at the hands of the Governor, but also Emerson's father. Daryl had disclosed such information to Carol after the hunt he'd been on with Emerson, worrying that the girl posed a danger to the group given that she had so flippantly admitted she'd killed her father before the outbreak. Carol had dismissed the notion to Daryl, saying that if she wanted to harm the group they'd all be dead already. 

Carol watched over Emerson for about fifteen more minutes before her breathing leveled out completely, and then she left the room in hopes that Emerson would wake up soon, otherwise she didn't know what would become of Rick's sanity. Not to mention that Josey hadn't been the same ever since Emerson had fallen under what Hershel described as a 'concussive induced comatose state,' which Carol had always thought was an old wives tale. When her mother used to tell her to stay awake after she hit her head, Carol waved it off. She thought it was a joke. But then there was Emerson proving her wrong. Carol noticed that Emerson had been doing that for a lot of them lately, proving wrong their preconceived notions, and she also hadn't failed to notice Rick's closeness to Emerson, and Carl's softening under the gentle and nurturing hand that Emerson seemed to give him in lieu of the boy's missing mother, and even Daryl had seemed to garner a respect and appreciation for Emerson's balance of level-headed clarity and rugged, fiery personality. She knew that if that woman slipped away, hope and morale in the prison would go along with her. 

She stole another glance at Emerson as she walked past the cell--which was locked, just in case--and tried to avoid letting Josey look in. Whenever the baby saw Emerson in her current state, she took to a fit of crying that would last for hours. Balancing a baby on each hip, she took both Josey and Judith outside to play in the sandbox that Emerson had suggested they build for the kids to make the prison feel more like home.

As Carol and the babies sat outside, the sun was shining brightly down on all three girls, contrasting the sullen mood of everyone at the prison. It almost seemed like a perfect day, one from before the world went to shit, if it wasn't for the walker moans that filled the yard. Carol didn't mind much, though; she was used to the noise and the smell. What she did mind though was that Rick and the others weren't yet back. Quick, constant glances at the gates showed Carol's anticipation of the return of Rick, Daryl and Hershel, although she hadn't expected the meeting to have a favorable outcome. But when the gates rattled and Carl shouted to Maggie in the guard tower, Carol still allowed herself to hold out hope. She took both babies to the gate and waited by the car as Rick came walking over, his face contorted in a troubled expression.

"How is she?" Rick asked, taking Judith from Carol. "Is there any change? Is she awake?" 

Before Carol even had a chance to respond, Rick was pushing past her and making his way to Emerson's cell, Carol following close at his heels with Josey in her arms. 

"Rick, hold on," she said, but Rick simply ignored her. 

When she finally caught up to Rick, he had handed Judith over to Beth and was standing at Emerson's cell door, shoulders slumped in defeat. 

"I was going to tell you that there was no change," Carol said. "You didn't have to run all the way over here." 

"Yes I did." 

Carol smiled sympathetically and shifted Josey on her hip so that the little girl's view of Emerson was blocked. "She's strong, Rick. She's gonna be alright. She's a tough one." 

He looked up from Carol, a haunted look in his eyes. "Yea, I thought Lori was too." Then, he stalked away and shouted at everyone in the prison to gather up. "We've got some things to discuss about the Governor!" 

                                                                                                          *****************

Rick sat on a stool pulled up beside Emerson's bed. For a long while he had been staring at her face, which in sleep looked more at peace than he had ever seen her. And that's not to say that she was always in a foul mood; in fact, it was usually the opposite. Whenever Rick saw Emerson, she was usually smiling and laughing or joking around. He had noticed awhile ago how far she had come out of her shell since being with the group, how she had gotten more open with her opinions, how she was caring, kind, level headed, and at the same time held a fire in her heart, and he wasn't afraid to say that he admired her. But, he was afraid to say that he cared. He was afraid to care for yet another person after his wife had been so cruelly taken from him, but he was also afraid that he had no choice in caring for Emerson--that it had already begun. 

"The Governor wants us dead," he said quietly to her, placing a hand next to Emerson's on the bed. "I don't know if you can hear me, but I... It will help me to talk to you. He doesn't know that you're here, at least I don't think so. He didn't bring you up during our meeting, but he wants us to give up Michonne. Now Daryl and Hershel, they don't think I should do it. I just... I just don't know. Should I sacrifice one woman for the sake of all of us? Merle says that he won't kill her, just torture her, and that he'd come kill us anyway. I want to give her up, to save us, but maybe Daryl is right--that's just not us..." 

He took a deep breath and placed his face in his hands. Rick was tired. Tired of being the leader, tired of making the decisions, tired of having the weight of all those lives on his shoulder. Carl had told him earlier that he should step down as leader, and he was starting to see the sense in it, but he just wished that Emerson would wake up, help him decide, give him some input. 

"I wish you were awake," he said. "You'd know what to do. Hershel... he says you might not wake up. He says anything can happen without the medical advancements we used to have, but please, just... don't leave me alone, alright?" 

Rick lifted his head and let his eyes linger on her face for a few minutes, and noticing a piece of hair covering her face he brushed it aside, also letting his hand linger on her cheek. Her eyelids flickered under his touch, causing Rick to lean forward in anticipation, expecting her eyes to open and for everything to be okay, but that just wasn't reality. She didn't wake up. There was no dramatic moment where her eyes flung open and her consciousness returned under Rick's influence. 

He withdrew his hand and sighed, walking out of her room feeling despondent as Josey began to scream nearby. Her cries echoed off the walls of the prison and no one, not even Carol, Rick or Beth could calm her down. But then, as if sensing the distress in her child, and going against everyone's expectations, Emerson stumbled out of her cell. Her eyes were half-lidded and her walk was shaky. Mumbles left her lips as one hand extended in a ghastly gesture towards the group. 

Rick turned around upon the shuffling of feet, heart stopping as he stared at Emerson emerging from her room. Josey still screamed. Hands hovered over guns. They thought she had slipped away, and just as a gun raised to put her out of her misery, she spoke. 

"Give her to me," she said, voice hoarse. 

Daryl, who had brought his crossbow up, dropped it down, relief encompassing his heart, and then all at once Rick rushed forward, surprising everyone--including Emerson--and wrapped his arms around the shaky woman, burying his face in her hair. She closed her eyes and leaned into his touch. She needed support to stand on her own and her head still echoed a pounding bass in her ears even as he hugged her to him. She slipped away from Rick as Josey came closer, her cries settling down the closer she came to Emerson. Once the baby was finally in her arms, with the support of Rick to keep Emerson upright, her cries completely ceased. 

"She's hungry," Emerson muttered, and within seconds a bottle was placed in her hand. 

"You should sit," Rick said quietly, holding onto her elbow and shoulder to support her. 

Emerson nodded, trying to make sense of his words through her headache and dizziness, and allowed Rick to lead her to a chair with Josey still in her arms. 

"Where's Hershel?" Rick asked over his shoulder. 

"I'm right here. Emerson; glad to see you're awake. But, you should be laying in bed. You're not fit to be on your feet." 

"I'm fine," she said, head spinning as she looked down to see Josey. 

"You were unconscious for two days. You're not fine," Rick said. "You said you were fine last time and look what happened." 

"This has nothing to do with that," she protested. "It was your crazy friend that slammed my head into the floor. It had nothing to do with me being injured." There was a heavy silence for a second until Carol came over and took Josey from Emerson's arms. 

"You two bicker like an old married couple," Carol said. "But they're right. You should be in bed." 

A wave of nausea hit Emerson as she handed Josey to Carol and she realized that they all were right.

"What happened while I was out?" She asked Rick as he led her back to her cell. 

"I don't wanna bother you with that right now."

"You're not bothering me if I'm asking. If you don't tell me, I'll just spend the entire time worrying about it and I won't get any rest." 

Just because she was injured, didn't mean that he could hold information from her, or at least that's what she thought. Emerson already suspected that things hadn't gone well with the Governor. She knew first hand how crazy that man was, and even if they had managed to strike some kind of deal she knew that he would go back on it, and she voiced such thoughts to Rick. 

"If he tried to bargain with you, promise you peace in return for something else, don't listen. He's not a man of his word, Rick. He can't be trusted." 

"I know that, but I have to try." 

Emerson shook her head and reached out a hand, stopping Rick from leaving the room. "What does he want?" 

Rick hesitated before answering, "he wants Michonne, and in exchange he says he'll leave us alone so long as we stay out of their way." 

Emerson's heart jumped to her throat as she thought about Michonne, the woman who'd saved her, being thrown into the lion's den. "No way, Rick. No way. Do you have any idea what he'd do to her? He wouldn't just kill her, Rick." 

"Merle said the same thing." 

"That's because we both..." she paused and took a breath as a sharp pain wracked her head. "We both know how he is. How he really is. There will be no peace; so either we leave or we fight. We can't hand her over. It isn't us." 

"And Daryl said that," Rick laughed. "You fit in great around here, don't you?" 

Emerson leaned back on the bed and smiled. "I guess I do." 

                                                                                                    ***************************

 

 

 

 

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

 

Day two after Emerson's awakening was spent mostly in bed, much to her dismay. She knew that the prison was gearing up for war with the Governor and felt increidbly guilty that all she could do to help was wash the dishes while sitting down, wash the clothes while sitting down, and mend the torn and broken clothes, while of course sitting down. She found all of these tasks menial and unfamiliar--common housework-- but there were some nights that she enjoyed. Those nights were the nights when she'd surprise Daryl with her skills in skinning, cleaning and cooking his kills. 

"Where'd you learn to do that so good?" He'd asked her one night. 

With the flames of the fire casting shadows across her face, she smiled a ghostly smile, her nimble hands moving quick and skillful with the fillet knife. 

"Like I told you before, I had to eat somehow." Her voice sounded hollow, as it always did when she spoke of her past, and upon speaking the headache would return and she'd clench her eyes tightly shut and put down the kill, allowing Daryl to take over. But she'd still sit next to him in a soft silence, close enough so that their knees touched and Emerson could feel the warmth of his body on her skin. 

 

Day three after Emerson's awakening was spent much in the same way as day two, and then the subsequent days were the same until about a week went by and finally Hershel had cleared Emerson for regular activity, with the exceptions of heavy running, being around loud noises--including the crying baby--and heavy lifting. She'd been walking around the prison looking for Rick when she stumbled upon him and Merle standing over a bag of guns and other weapons. At first sight of them, she pressed herself to the wall by the door and listened in, hoping against all hope that Rick wasn't doubling back on his promise about turning Michonne over to the Governor. 

But her hopes were shattered when she heard Rick tell Merle to get a wire that Michonne couldn't chew through. Her stomach dropped as she peeled herself from the stone wall and stepped into the light of the storeroom. "Rick?" 

The former sheriff straightened up and dropped the rope he had been holding, his mouth rounding into an expression of surprise as he stepped to the side to try and block the bag of weapons and restraints. "Emerson. What are you doing out of bed?" A hand reached up to scratch the back of his neck. 

She furrowed her brows as she watched the amused expression on Merle's face. "Hershel cleared me for activity," she said slowly. "The better question is what are you guys doing?" 

Rick grasped for words and turned to Merle, hoping that someone so skilled at lying could conjure up a good excuse. Unfortunately for Rick, Merle thrived on trouble and conflict.  

"Officer Friendly here is gonna give up our old pal Michonne to the Governor," Merle drawled, looking between Rick and Emerson. 

Emerson's throat tightened up as she stared at Rick, challenging him to lie to her. He stared at her emptily. "I can't believe you," she seethed, her voice icy. "You said my opinion mattered. You came to me and asked for my opinion, and I gave it to you with complete honesty, and I told you how important this was to me. Michonne saved my life, Rick. I can't believe you'd give her over to the same psychopath who tortured me."

"I'm trying to save you--trying to save all of you," Rick said, his voice strained. 

Emerson scoffed and shook her head. "No, Rick, you're trying to save yourself from having to do any hard work... But I can tell you something right now: the Governor won't give up. You give him Michonne and you'll have given up one of our best fighters right before a war, because don't think there won't be a war. He'll come for us, Rick. Remember that when you tie up Michonne and hand her over, okay?" 

With one last glare, she turned on her heel and stormed away, ignoring his calls from behind. 

 

Emerson stormed into the main cell block and into her cell, throwing her pillow and books to the floor. Her chest heaved as she stared at the cement wall, her hands clenching and unclenching into fists. 

"What's got you so worked up?" 

She stiffened, but didn't' turn around. She already knew who it was. The southern hick drawl had become familiar to her during their fireside chats. 

"He ain't gonna do it, Mer. He'll cop out. Ain't got the balls for that..." 

"I think you're counting on something that we don't know for sure," Emerson said lowly. She knew that the second she looked at Daryl, her anger would dissolve, and she didn't want that to happen. She wanted to hold onto the anger so that she wouldn't get burned again. She'd trusted Rick and he'd betrayed her. 

"Listen, I know Rick. He'll make the right choice. How's about we go into the woods and blow off some steam, bring back a nice buck or somethin'?" 

Some of the anger melted off of Emerson's shoulders as she turned to look at Daryl. She crossed her arms over her chest and regarded him with an easy smile. "I thought you liked going out alone?" 

"I _did_. Your company ain't that bad... You in?" 

She slung her bow over her shoulder and sheathed her arrows in response, and the two of them walked out of the prison and into the woods. 

*********

"So, you and Rick, huh?" 

Shrill cries from the different Georgian birds erupted through the trees in the silence that fell after that question. Why would he be asking about that? Emerson lowered her sights and looked sideways at Daryl, finally saying, "No." 

"You just saying that 'cause he pissed you off?" 

"Why are you so eager to make conversation all of a sudden?" She rested her crossbow against her leg and crossed her arms over her chest. 

Daryl's lips upturned as he studied her defiant posture, noting that for such a little thing, she definitely had character. "Cause I can't figure you out." 

"You can't figure me out?" 

"You heard me." 

Emerson sighed and brought up her crossbow, turned around and made her way back into the trees. 

"Why'd you kill your dad?" 

Her footsteps stopped short and she froze, her hand unconsciously hovering over the trigger of her crossbow. She refused to meet his eyes, just stood staring straight ahead. "I don't see how that's any of your business, Daryl..." Her voice was deadly calm, something that Daryl hadn't ever heard from her. Truth be told, he'd never seen her get angry. Sure he'd encountered her temper tantrum in her cell, but that wasn't the mark of anger--it was the mark of betrayal. She'd been double crossed, so naturally she was hurt. Daryl could understand that. But this, this was anger. 

His resolve did not wane, however. "If you're going to be sleeping in that prison with us, I just need to know. I told Carol, and--" 

"You told Carol? Daryl, what the fuck? I didn't tell you that so you could go and tell the entire group my past!" She threw down her cross-bow and rolled up her sleeves, now fully facing Daryl. He almost wished that she'd turn back around; the glare on her face killed him. 

"These people, they've been through a lot. Had to make sure you were safe. Had to get a second opinion." 

"What, you think that because I killed the man that beat me senseless and sexually abused me that I'm gonna kill all of you?" 

He sucked in a deep breath through his teeth. He'd gone too far and he knew it. She hadn't been ready to disclose that information, and he'd backed her into a corner and made her give it out. He made her feel as though she had something to prove, even though she'd already proven herself twice over--had even taken a bullet for Rick. Having her exploit her past like that, making her defend her actions, it hadn't been right and he knew it. 

He let out the breath in a deep sigh. "Mer, I'm sorry, I just--" 

"No. I've heard enough apologies from pig headed men today. Go fuck yourself." She shouldered her bow, ignoring the aching in her head at her sudden movements, and stormed away in the general direction of the prison. 

 

 

Carl pulled the gates open for her when she arrived, and she had to try very hard to take the glare off of her face and muster up a smile for the teen. She didn't want her anger to be on display--didn't want to make her problems public.

"Get anything good?" Carl asked. 

Emerson gave a sad smile and shook her head before brushing past him. She noticed that the gates weren't closed right away behind her and she stopped, looked up, and noticed Daryl coming through them. He must've followed her back. She scowled; she'd hoped that he woud've stayed out longer. 

So wrapped up was she in Daryl's arrival that she didn't even notice the first pig headed man that pissed her off that day coming up behind her until he placed a heavy hand on her shoulder. 

"It's off," he said, not bothering with any hellos. She stiffened and moved out from under his touch. 

"Are you lying to me again?" She asked without facing him. She was still focused on Daryl, whose attention was focused on Rick. 

"No. I... I'm sorry, Em, I really am. But I need your help. And you too, Daryl." 

"You expect me to help you after you lied to me?" She turned around and glared at him, crossing her arms. 

"Michonne and Merle are missing. I told him it was off, but I think he might've taken her anyway." 

"Well what do you expect when you're working with Merle Dixon?" She spat. 

"Hey, that's my brother you're talking about. Better watch your tone."

She felt Daryl's breath on her neck and she scowled at the ground. Without turning around, she said, "yea, and he's also an accomplice to my months of abuse. I can say whatever the Hell I want about him." 

Daryl grunted. "So, I guess I'm going to look for him?" 

"No. I am," Rick said. 

Emerson looked up at him with raised eyebrows. "Really? You were so eager to give her up, and now you're gonna go risk your ass to save her?" 

Rick stared into her face, unflinching, causing her to scoff. "You two idiots aren't going; I am. Michonne saved me, now I get to return the favor." 

"You ain't going alone," Daryl quipped. "I'm coming with ya." 

"You gonna be able to talk your brother down? You never could before, given the tension between him and everyone in the prison..." 

"I'll talk to him. Besides, if the Governor shows his face and tries to take you back, then I'll kill him." 

A pang of fear trampled over Emerson's brazen fire. She hadn't thought about the Governor being there, but of course he would have to be there. The whole point of the endeavor was to hand Michonne over to him. 

"You okay, Em?" Rick asked gently. His hand fell onto Emerson's shoulder, but she wrenched it away. 

"I'm fine. You ready, Daryl?" 

He nodded. "We'll take my bike." 

 

 

 Author's Note: Hey! It's been so long, hasn't it? Well, this story is also being posted on Wattpad, where I have a bunch of other fanfics. I have a pretty popular Doctor Who ones if I have any doctor who fans out there. My wattpad username is @AllOfTimeNSpace and the Doctor Who fanfic is called "The Creator". 

 


	7. Chapter 7

 

Wind slapped Emerson's cheeks as Daryl pushed the speed on his bike and the pair flew down the deserted highway. Time was critical in the new world, no more so than now. So much could happen in so few minutes. Their arriving a minute too late could decide Merle and Michonne's fate. A minute too late, and Michonne might never return home. 

Up ahead, a lone figure stood in the middle of a quickly approaching field. Emerson noticed and shouted over the wind, telling Daryl to stop. He ground to a screeching halt when he noticed what Emerson had also noticed: the lone figure was Michonne. 

"Hey!" Daryl called. He dismounted the bike and left Emerson to stagger off the bike on her own, which she managed to do, but not without difficulty. She yanked the helmet off her head as she got closer to Daryl, coming up just in time to see Michonne frown deeply as she shrugged. Emerson feared that the samurai might've killed Merle after all. She stole a glance at Daryl, who studied Michonne intently. 

"You kill him?" He asked finally, taking a step forward. Tension washed over them quickly, but it was gone as quick as it had appeared when Michonne shook her head no with a tight lipped grimace. 

"He let me go," she said. 

Emerson turned to Daryl, relieved, but was shocked to see Daryl scowl. Clearly he knew something that Emerson didn't. She was about to ask when Daryl shoved her gently aside, not sparing her a glance as he called over his shoulder to Michonne: "don't let anyone come after me." 

"You know you're not going to be able to stop me, right?" She asked, not turning to look at Michonne as she watched Daryl's retreating form. He left his bike where it was, choosing to trek through the woods instead. Emerson admired his forethought: if the Governor was still there, then the bike would surely alert him to Daryl's approach. Better to come in quiet and have the element of surprise at Daryl's side. 

"I could stop you," Michonne commented quietly. Emerson tensed as she prepared for the fight she'd put up if Michonne tried to stop her. "But I have no intentions of doing so." 

Her shoulders relaxed as she shot Michonne a grateful look. She rested a hand on the pistol strapped to her hip. "I hope to see you back at the prison." 

Michonne shrugged and nodded to where Daryl had disappeared. "Better go." 

Emerson nodded and picked up a light jog to the path that Daryl had taken through the trees. It might've been an old walking path at one point--before the world fell apart. Maybe happy couples strolled along this path with their children at one point, something Emerson, with a bitterness, realized she'd never be able to do. But those thoughts fell away as the path fed into a clearing that reeked of death and slaughter. Men and women, freshly killed humans and long undead and newly put down walkers, laid strewn about like pebbles in a river bed, and in the middle of it all was Daryl, staring down at his brother's body. 

A heavy feeling settled over Emerson's chest as she watched, shifting from foot to foot with uncertainty. She once again laid a hand on the gun at her side, ready to take to Daryl's defense in case he missed anything while consumed in grief. She realized the best course of action then would be to do just that. Daryl wasn't one for sharing feelings or emotional chats--that was Rick. Daryl preferred to suffer in silence. Skirting around the dead bodies, and hoping Daryl hadn't seen her, Emerson settled on a picnic bench just out of sight and averted her eyes to the woods. 

She sat like that for what felt like hours, but in reality was probably only about twenty minutes--until Merle's corpse began the grisly process of reanimation. Shallow breaths and low groans began to leave his paled lips as his fingers twitched. His hands reached up to touch Daryl's face and Daryl just stared. Emerson bit her lip as she turned her attention to the scene. She'd intervene if she had to, but otherwise she knew that Daryl had to take care of it on his own. 

What she didn't expect was the gruesome way that Daryl would choose to handle it. He landed punch after punch on Merle's undead face, splattering blood on his own knuckles, face, hair, and clothes. Emerson half stood, perching uncertainly and unable to look away as Daryl brandished his knife and sank it again and again into Merle's head, long after he had already died. Maybe someone else in her place would have intervened, but Emerson understood Daryl in a way that not many others in the world did. 

Again she averted her eyes as Daryl sobbed and went at his brother's corpse until nothing was left but a bloody mess. It had finally all left Daryl's system, though. 

The sun had slowly begun its dissent as Emerson crossed the death ridden field and stood behind Daryl. He whipped around as a stick crunched under her boot, but when their eyes lock he sunk back down. Emerson sank to her knees next to him, close enough that their legs and arms pressed together, just like they did during those nights in front of the fire. Together they sat in a moment of silence, Daryl thinking about his brother and Emerson thinking about Daryl. To see the strong ones break made most want to break themselves. 

"We should bury him," she said, turning to look at Daryl. 

He glanced sidelong at her. "Why would you want to do that? You hated him. He helped torture you for fucks sake." 

She sucked in a breath at his reminder as she nodded. "That's true, but funerals aren't for the dead. Funerals are for the living. I may not have cared for Merle, but I care--" She caught herself short as she realized what she was about to say. "I care that you have closure." 

"I ain't some pansy little shit. I don't need it. People die that's just what happens, even before the world went to shit," Daryl spat. 

"I was just trying to--"

"Well don't try!" He shouted. He stood up abruptly, the sun drawing shadows across his face. "I don't need you. I don't want you. So don't try. Don't sit here kneelin' next to me like you gave a damn about my brother or you give a damn about me!" 

Emerson recoiled as if he'd sucker punched her, and essentially he had. He didn't need her. He didn't want her. Far too many times had she been told that in her life. She nodded briskly and stood, turned from Daryl and began to walk. 

His face fell as he watched her retreat, the anger falling out of him all at once. "Where... where the hell are you going?" 

"You don't need me. You don't want me," she said hotly. "I'm walking back to the prison." 

"It'll be dark," he said. His voice was quiet, concerned. 

She turned around and narrowed her eyes, a glare fixed on her face. "I don't need you. I don't want you. Don't worry about it," she snapped. Daryl didn't miss the tears that built up in her eyes. Without shame she reached up and wiped them away before turning around and continuing on her way. He knew it was best not to go after her--knew that she could handle herself--but still, that didn't change the heaviness that lingered in his chest as he watched her walk away. He'd lost his brother; he hoped he hadn't just lost Emerson, too.

 

 


End file.
